


Finding Flight

by LiraelClayr007



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien!Cas, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Space Stations, human!dean, previous injury, space diplomat au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Dean, a low-level (human) diplomat stationed in deep space, is part of a team trying to negotiate peace between two peoples who have been arguing for decades. Cas is an alien brought in to negotiate for the other side.When their lives collide, neither will ever be the same.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean stares at the passing stars.  _ This may be a boring gig _ , he thinks, _ but the view makes it worth it _ .

_ If I ignore the noise, and squint, I can almost imagine I’m out there. Flying. Instead of stuck in here with my feet on the-- _ He looks down. It isn’t the ground, not exactly. He  _ is  _ in space, after all.

Dean is a diplomat. A low-level diplomat. It’s not that he’s bad at his job; he’s actually pretty good at talking people into things. He just doesn’t have the drive to move higher in the diplomatic corps. He’d only joined to get off Earth and into space. It had been pretty great at first: new planets, new species, the  _ stars _ . The stars alone were worth everything else.

Then, after six years in the diplomatic corps, Dean had been assigned to the  _ Virginian _ .

The  _ Virginian _ , where diplomatic careers go to die.

The short story: Humans and Preet have been fighting over a planet (the humans called it Avalon, the Preet called it Chrrt) for over 30 years. They’d colonized it at almost exactly the same time. They both have a legitimate claim. They could not (would not) live with each other.

For the past seven years, the  _ Virginian _ \--a space station on the edge of Avalon’s solar system--has been host to “peace talks” between the humans and the Preet. The talks have not gone well.

But the lounge Dean frequents has a viewport that covers an entire wall, and they serve microbrews that are almost as good as he could get back on Earth, so he doesn’t complain. Much.

Dean leans back in his chair and sips his beer. _ At least I have the stars _ .

There is a rustle and a breath of wind, and Dean looks up to see--

Blue eyes. Dark hair. Black... **_wings_ ** ?

A surprisingly deep, raspy voice says, “May I sit here?”

Dean chokes on his beer and nearly loses his balance as the front two legs of his chair slam to the floor.

“I often get that reaction from men,” the man-- _ being? _ \--says drily.

“Are you--” Dean starts to say, coughs, clears his throat, then starts again. “Are you...an  _ angel _ ?”

The man-- _ I’m just going to think of him as a man until I learn otherwise _ , Dean thinks--tilts his head to the side, blue eyes puzzled.

_ Well  _ **_that_ ** _ is adorable _ , Dean thinks.

“You’re the third human to ask me that since I arrived on the station,” the man says. “I’ve done extensive research on Earth and its species. I’ve never read about these ‘angels.’ Are they extinct?” He actually makes air quotes with his fingers when he says the word angels.

“No,” Dean says quickly, “not really. Angels aren’t...anything. They’re stories, I guess. Winged guardians, protecting us. When I was a little boy my mom used to tell me that angels were watching over me. The angels I dreamed of...they looked a lot like you.” He looks away, his ears pink.

The man chuckles, drawing Dean’s eyes back. “I’m no angel,” he says. “I’m Castiel. An Astorian.”

A wisp of memory surfaces in Dean’s mind: Astoria, distant planet, mostly unknown, home to a race of alien known for their wings, their beauty, and their vast intelligence. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Of course. I’ve read about Astoria, but I’ve never met an Astorian. I’ve never even seen a picture. Believe me,” he says, transfixed by the glossy black feathers, “the descriptions I read don’t do justice to the real thing.” He forces his eyes away from the wings and finds himself once again gazing into deep blue eyes.  _ It’s not only the wings that make him beautiful _ , he thinks.

One of the eyes winks.

Flustered, ears pink--again--Dean gestures toward a nearby stool. “Please, sit. I think the stool will be more comfortable for you than a chair, with those wings. I’m Dean. And welcome to the  _ Virginian _ , Cas.”

“Cas…” repeats Castiel, as if tasting a new flavor.

“Oh...sorry...I just--” Dean stammers.

“On the contrary, I rather like it. Astorians aren’t prone to nicknames. Ours is a very rigid and and regimented society...which is one reason I spend as much time as I can away from home.” Cas smiles as he perches on the low stool, his wings trailing behind him.

“So what brings you to the  _ Virginian _ , Cas? I hope you’re not here for the never-ending peace talks.”  _ But I hope you’re staying for awhile _ , he adds internally.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Indeed. The Preet brought me in to negotiate for them.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stops himself from wincing. Barely.

_ Don’t fall for the rival diplomat _ , he tells himself sternly.  _ It’s a very bad idea _ .

_ But look at those eyes! _ says another part of his brain.  _ And those  _ **_wings_ ** _...and that quirky smile... _

Cas looks at Dean quizzically, and he realizes he’s been internally debating too long.

“Oh,” he finally says, and thinks,  _ Brilliant, Dean. You  _ **_do_ ** _ remember that your job is all about talking. You do it every day. Do try to say something more intelligent than ‘Oh.” _

“Oh,” he says again, and he mentally kicks himself. Cas raises an eyebrow, and Dean forces himself to continue. “I mean, I’m here for the peace talks too. On the human side, though.”

Cas actually laughs out loud at that. “I did gather as much. You don’t look like a Preet. They are a bit smaller. And a bit bluer.”

Dean blushes. It’s true; the Preet are mostly human-shaped, but they have blue skin, blue hair, blue eyes--not just the irises, their eyes are completely, unnervingly, blue-- and are on average about three feet tall. There is no mistaking a human for a Preet. 

“I just meant…” Dean trails off. Why does Castiel put him so off balance?

“So you’re part of the diplomatic corps?” Cas asks with a grin.

Dean relaxes slightly. Cas is letting him off the hook. “Yes. I’ve been here on the  _ Virginian  _ for just over two human years now--I’m sorry, I don’t know what the equivalent is in Astorian time.”

Cas smiles again. “That’s alright. As I said, I’ve been studying Earth for a long time. I understand your measurements."

“These talks...they’re brutal. They just go in circles. Neither side will give any ground. And it’s not like I don’t understand; we all know both sides are right and both sides are wrong. But everyone--both Preet and humans--flat out refuses to compromise. Some days I get so frustrated...I wonder if I’ll ever leave this station again.  _ Two years _ I’ve been here, Cas. Before coming here my longest assignment was five months.” Dean thumbs at the label on his beer.

He stares out the window, focusing on the distant stars once again. “But I’m stuck. My parents are back on Earth, and they have no pull at all with the diplomatic corps or the Star Voyagers. And I’m so low-level I barely exist here. I’m barely more important than the guy who fetches coffee.”

When Dean turns back Cas’s gaze is so focused on him that he forgets to breathe for a moment. After a pause Cas says, “Somehow I doubt that, Dean.”

The sound of his name in Cas’s voice makes his heart race.  _ What’s wrong with me? _ he thinks.  _ I’m acting like some hormone-crazed teenager! _

Somehow Dean manages to pull his eyes away from Cas, and once again he stares out the viewport. A flash of movement catches his attention, and he feels all the color drain from his face. A formation of Perigrines, the small combat ships that routinely patrol the space surrounding the station, flies past. His stomach churns, and without realizing it he is on his feet, his chair clattering across the metal floor.

“I--I’m sorry,” Dean manages, his voice choked, an arm across his chest. “I--I just can’t. I have to--it was nice to meet you, Cas. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Cas’s expression cycles between concern and bewilderment, but before he can say anything at all Dean stumbles out of the lounge and Cas is left staring at the fallen chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but because of the way the story is going the chapter had to break there. The next chapter is already written, though, and is quite a bit longer, so I can promise lots more next week! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Most of the time Dean hates his quarters. He has a small living room with an even smaller sofa--his mom would probably call it a love seat--and a coffee table. The far end of the room doubles as a dining room on days he doesn’t want to eat in one of the mess halls or lounges, complete with a tiny round table and two chairs. The bathroom isn’t even big enough to have a bathtub, and if not for the bed the bedroom could possibly be mistaken for a walk-in closet. There is a viewscreen he can activate to view entertainments, to make calls to other people on the  _ Virginian _ , to use the computer system, or to mimic any view he’d like to see, but there are no viewports. He isn’t nearly senior enough to warrant quarters on the outer edge of the station.

Most days Dean fervently wishes for a window. But after seeing the Perigrine flyby he’s thankful for his blank walls. 

_ That was a total disaster _ , he thinks, throwing himself onto the sofa.  _ Cas probably thinks I’m crazy _ . He looks around his quarters then says, “Maybe I am.”

Dean has been dreaming of flying as long as he can remember. For his fifth birthday his mom gave him a telescope and his dad built a bench along the window in his bedroom so he could spend as much time as he wanted looking at the sky. When he was twelve--the earliest age they’d take you--he joined the Junior Star Voyagers and started learning how to pilot small spacecraft. It was mostly simulators, but to Dean it was the start of his dreams coming true.

And then, when he was fifteen, there was the accident.

He doesn’t blame his little brother. It hadn’t been Sam’s fault. They’d been playing catch in the backyard, and Sam had thrown the football a little past Dean. There had been a branch on the ground, and Dean had fallen into a bush, and two weeks later the doctors were telling the Winchesters that it was a miracle that Dean could see at all. He shouldn’t be upset about only having 80% of his vision. He should be thrilled.

But 80% of his vision--and almost no peripheral vision on the right side--meant no flying. Ever. He’d actually been flying small aircraft for two years, and it was everything his five year old self had ever dreamed. More, even. Nothing at all could compare to soaring above the earth, and he’d been counting the days until his 18th birthday, when he could join the Star Voyagers and actually fly above the atmosphere. Then the accident destroyed his dreams.

The diplomatic corps got him above the atmosphere, of course. It had been his mom’s idea. “You’ve always been good with words,” she’d said, eyes twinkling. “Just look at how often you get your way around here.” So Dean had met with the recruiter, who told Dean he “showed real promise.” It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but the trouble was he’d had no idea what it was he  _ did  _ want. He’d been dreaming of nothing but flight for his whole life, or so it seemed to him. It was like having the needle of his compass suddenly disappear. So when someone pointed him in a direction, he went. Six weeks after high school graduation he’d been on a shuttle for training on Moon Base Alpha, and he’d been following orders ever since.

But the diplomatic corps hasn’t erased his dreams of flying. If anything it’s made them worse. Sure he gets to be in space, see new planets, meet amazing people, but every time he sees Perigrines his stomach lurches and he feels faint. Every time he passes someone wearing a flight suit he has to bite back an envious scream. Even the everyday Star Voyagers uniforms make his heart beat overly fast.

Frustrated, Dean runs his fingers through his hair.  _ Maybe I should have just stayed on Earth, _ he thinks despondently.  _ I’m sure I could have found a place with no stars to taunt me. Hey, I know. I could go home and work in a coal mine. _ He laughs a short, bitter laugh.

A soft beep--his door chime--jolts him out of his depressed thoughts. “Come in,” he says, his voice deactivating the lock mechanism on the door. It slides open and a smiling redhead bounds into his cramped quarters.

“Dean! You’ll never believe it! There’s an Astorian on the…” Charlie’s exuberant chatter fades into silence when she sees his pale, pained face. She sits beside him on the tiny sofa, nudging him with her elbow until he makes room for her. Quietly she asks, “Was it Perigrines again?”

Dean nods, unwilling to speak. Charlie gives him a one-armed hug and rests her head on his shoulder. She understands. They’d met eight years before; Dean was on his first assignment for the diplomatic corps and Charlie was fresh out of the Star Voyagers Academy. Dean had only been on board a few days when, lonely and bored, he went to a movie night in the ship’s lounge. He and Charlie bonded instantly over a mutual love of  _ Star Wars _ . She was the best kind of friend; at first they talked about books and movies, but soon they were talking about other things. Home. Family. She was one of the few who knew about the accident. He’d only been on that ship for a few months, but they’d stayed in touch, and they’d both been thrilled when she’d been stationed on the  _ Virginian _ not long after he arrived.

They sit silently for a few minutes, Dean taking comfort in his friend, until he suddenly bursts out, “ _ And _ I made a fool of myself.” He covers his face with his hands.

After a beat Charlie shouts, “You met someone!” It is not a question; Charlie always knows. “It’s about damn time! I was  _ this close _ to setting you up with someone in my lab. There’s a new girl who’s kind of cute, although I don’t know if her sense of humor is up to your standards. And there’s a guy who keeps asking about you, but he’s a vegetarian, and the way you are with burgers, I just don’t know if I could see you with a vegetarian. I mean, I know that’s what we do, finding new and better ways to grow vegetables in space, but that doesn’t mean we can’t--”

“Charlie!” Dean snaps.

“Sorry,” Charlie says, not sounding sorry at all.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” says Dean. “Even if the flyby hadn’t made me run out of the lounge like I’d seen a ghost, he’s here to negotiate  _ for the Preet _ . It’s a bad idea, Charlie.  _ Romeo and Juliet _ was romantic at first, but it didn’t exactly end well.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Dramatic much? You’re not Juliet, Dean. You’re--” She stops, mouth hanging open. Slowly, deliberately, she says, “Dean. You said the guy you met is here to negotiate for the Preet.”

Tonelessly, Dean answers, “yeah.”

  
“Dean.  _ Dean _ .” When he doesn’t respond to her increasing levels of agitation she resorts to grabbing him by the shoulders and squeezing until he looks at her. “Dean. Did you meet the  _ Astorian _ ??”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I hope you liked this one. The idea of Dean getting hurt when he was young and then being at a loss for what to do with his life was sort of what sparked this story, combined with a "drabble" (haha!!) prompt from a [tumblr friend](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com/)\--I can't remember the exact wording anymore, but it was something like "Dean and Cas on opposite sides of a conflict in a Star Trek-like setting." I kept trying to write it as a drabble but it wouldn't work; finally I realized it was too big a story to tell in a few hundred words. :)
> 
> I'm [ialwayscomewhenyoucall](https://ialwayscomewhenyoucall.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you'd like to come say hello!


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel is still staring at the fallen chair, wondering what he did to upset Dean, when the silver band wrapped around his wrist buzzes slightly. He twitches his hand at the unfamiliar sensation, then remembers--it’s the Star Voyagers communications device he was issued when he’d arrived on the station. _Just one more thing to get used to on this place,_ he thinks, looking around. He depresses the small indent on the band and says to the air, “This is Castiel.”

A squeaky voice answers, “Ambassador Novak. This is Charruk Tok of the Preet delegation. Please report to Ambassador Flrr on deck 24. You are late.”

Castiel sighs internally but keeps his voice pleasant when he answers. “I was not made aware of any appointments until tomorrow morning’s briefing. I apologize for the misunderstanding; I will be there momentarily.”

“We will be expecting you,” Tok answers. The communicator buzzes again to let him know that the channel has been closed. Standing, Castiel flicks his wingtips, hoping none of the humans in the lounge know Astorians well enough to recognize it as a visible sign of frustration.  The sound of his steps on the hard floor fills him with a flood of…it’s not _homesickness_ , not exactly. This place is metal and glass, shiny and black and grey, hard and bright. What he misses is the softness of home, the green and brown. Astoria is towering trees and trailing vines, flowing rivers and wide lakes. Even the sun, due to the makeup of the stratosphere, gives off a pale greenish glow.

He also misses having a place to stretch his wings.

Castiel has been a negotiator of sorts for the past ten years. He’d been traveling off planet—a very un-Astorian thing to do, as his siblings remind him as often as possible—when he’d found himself in the middle of a dispute over farming rights to a tract of land between two neighboring families. Without even realizing what he was doing he’d stepped in, gentling the arguing neighbors into actually speaking rather than ranting and raving until they’d landed on a compromise that left both sides happy for the first time in several years.

It had been a small thing, really, barely worth notice. But a high-ranking officer from the local military happened to be visiting friends in the nearby village, and she did take notice. She’d been impressed by how he’d known just how to handle the arguing families. She didn’t know much about Astoria--no one did, really--was he a middle child from a big family who was always trying to help his brothers and sisters work things out? Was it something all Astorians learned, a subject taught in school alongside math and reading and coloring in the lines? Or was it a skill specific to Castiel alone, one he’d just discovered one day and nurtured until it bloomed?

Slightly overwhelmed by the expectant, chatty woman standing before him, Castiel had smiled slightly and said, “Actually, I’m not sure how that happened. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

And with that simple statement began Castiel’s second life. The officer, Admiral Amia, took him under her wing...so to speak.  Much to the disdain of Castiel’s people, he left Astoria and studied negotiation and mediation tactics under the Admiral’s direction. Even as he studied he had work; first nearby but then farther and farther afield. Almost immediately Admiral Amia sent him to a neighboring colony world, where he successfully negotiated a compromise between two rival clans who had been vying for a small island in the river that separated their two lands. To Castiel’s surprise--but not to the Admiral’s--his reputation spread quickly, all across the galaxy. He didn’t work specifically for her government; soon he traveled from planet to planet, living mostly aboard spaceships, going wherever he was needed. Soon he was in demand, and he could go where he wished. He enjoyed the freedom to choose, something he never really had on Astoria, but he did miss waking up with the sun on his face and the wind ruffling his feathers, the way it did on the open aeries of his homeworld.

What he _doesn’t_ miss is being told what to do all the time. _How could I,_ he thinks, making his way toward the lift. His brothers, his sister, his parents. They haven’t exactly stopped.

His mind flits back to the latest message from home, this one from Gabriel, one of his older brothers. “It’s been ten years, Castiel. Hasn’t this ‘finding yourself’ thing gone on long enough? Time to grow up!” Castiel’s feathers ruffle involuntarily. Grow up indeed. Castiel may be going against normal Astorian behavior by living among other species, but Gabriel is inarguably the most childish of his siblings. He flies through life seemingly without a care, playing practical jokes on his brothers and sisters, barely more mature than his own children. He did finally settle down with a mate, but that’s as close as Gabriel has ever come to “conforming.”

It’s not that Castiel dislikes his family. He’s just always felt…different. Even when he was very small he knew he wasn’t going to stay on Astoria all his life. He loved to soar above the treetops, to feel the warmth of the sun on his feathers, to smell the damp, rich smells of the forest. But while Astorians were very integrated with their ecosystem, they also spent their whole lives learning, and were actually quite technologically advanced. And Castiel just didn’t have the drive to spend his days in a lab trying to find a better treatment for an old sickness or reading stacks of books to determine the best place to build a new village to have the smallest impact on the local ecology. He didn’t want to sit and study. He wanted to get out and see what was beyond Astoria.

Even if that means living on crowded space stations from time to time.

Castiel suddenly remembers blushing cheeks and moss green eyes, a warm voice calling him _Cas_. He smiles to himself. Perhaps this particular space station will be better than most. The smile falters a bit. Why did Dean run away? He must have felt the spark between them.  Castiel is looking forward to these peace talks more now: Dean will be there.

Lost in thought, Castiel reaches the lift, bracing himself for the uncomfortable ride to come. If being on a spaceship or station feels cramped, being inside a lift is nearly unbearable. He bites back a shudder when the doors open to show six people already inside; if the Preet weren’t already upset that he was late for a meeting he didn’t even know about he would have let the doors close without entering. Instead he takes a deep breath and steps onto the lift, pulling his wings as tight to his back as he can. Looking at the ceiling, he makes a mental note to find out where on this station he can go to stretch his wings, to fly. Even if it’s just a cargo bay.

“Hi,” says a breathy voice. Castiel looks down to see a young woman with dark blond hair staring up at him with wide, intense eyes, her face only inches from his own. Startled, he nearly takes a step back, but the wall of the lift is directly behind him and he manages to stop himself before he crushes his wings. Apparently this particular human doesn’t recognize his need for personal space.

“Hi,” the woman says again, then she giggles. “I mean, I’m Becky. It’s so amazing to meet you! Your wings, your feathers, they’re breathtaking. Can I touch them?” The fingers of one hand stretch toward him.

It is only years of training that keeps him from shuddering, although his insides heave at the thought of this stranger’s hands on his wings. He keeps his voice calm, even as he wants to shout. “Please. No. What you are asking…it is very intimate. Among my people a parent will preen a child’s wings until he is grown, but after that wings are only ever touched by a lover.”

“Oh!” Becky giggles again, eyelashes fluttering. “Of course, I’d never touch you…unless you wanted me to,” she breathes. Again her fingers twitch in his direction.

“Good god, Rosen, leave him alone! He’s not your pet.”

Castiel looks up, blinking in surprise. While fending off Becky’s advances he failed to notice the lift stopping and emptying out; the only other occupant is a small, dark-haired woman. She’s glaring at Becky, arms crossed over her chest. When Becky turns to face her the change in her body language is instantaneous; instead of an expectant huntress she is a feral cat. “It’s none of your business, Masters!” she practically hisses. Castiel almost expects claws to extend from the ends of her fingers.

The woman called Masters is not cowed in the least. She nods her head toward the opening doors. “Isn’t this your deck?” she says pointedly.

Becky glances at the numbers displayed by the open doors and then turns to take one last, lingering look at Castiel. “I’ll see you around,” she says, all seductive sweetness again, no trace of feral Becky.

When the lift doors close, Castiel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he says. “That was…uncomfortable.”

The woman chuckles softly. “Yeah, I could see that, Clarence.”

Castiel squints at her. “My name is Castiel.”

She barks a laugh. “I knew Astorians were intelligent and beautiful. I didn’t know you were funny.”

Castiel quirks a smile. “Most aren’t. I’ve never really fit in.”

“Seriously, though. Stay away from Becky Rosen. The last man she took a liking to…well, he’s not here anymore. She followed him around, tried to break into his quarters, even showed up on the flight deck.” At Castiel’s confused look she adds, “He was a pilot.” He nods, understanding. “Anyway, he asked for a transfer. He never told anyone why he left, but he was pretty freaked out about something. She’s never been officially reprimanded because she’s never been caught doing anything that’s technically wrong. But the way she looked at you just now, you’re definitely in her sights. She looked like she wanted to marry you. Or eat you for breakfast.”

The tips of Castiel’s wings flutter. The woman glances down, then raises an eyebrow. _She knows about Astorians,_ Cas thinks, surprised. _Some things, at least._ _She knows that means I’m frustrated._ “I’ve only been here for a few hours, but already I’ve found the people on this station to be full of surprises,” Castiel says genuinely. “Thank you for the warning about Ms. Rosen. I’ll do my best to keep my distance.”

Scowling, she looks away. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not a very nice person.” After a pause she adds, “You seem like a good one, though. Too good to get tangled up with Becky Rosen.”

The lift stops and the doors slide silently open. “See you later, Clarence.”

Off balance, Castiel doesn’t speak until she’s moving out of the lift and down the hall. “What’s your name?” he calls after her.

“Meg,” she says. She doesn’t look back.

The lift doors close. “Nice to meet you, Meg,” he says to the empty air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I had this chapter all written...and then it DISAPPEARED. Google Docs is supposed to save to the cloud as you type, and before this I'd never had a problem, but somehow the most recent version I could recover was over 24 hours old, which meant I'd lost over 1100 words. Re-writing after losing everything is so disheartening! (And takes _way_ longer than the first draft...)
> 
> Anyway...hope you like it!
> 
> (Also...Dean and Cas _will_ be in the same room again soon. I promise!!)


	5. Chapter 5

“…no indication that anyone planned to settle on the planet. There were no markers on the planet or in orbit around it, no caches of supplies left behind; we saw no indication that anyone but us had ever visited Chrrt—”

“Avalon!” Naomi Rune interjects.

Ambassador Shurley turns to Naomi with a quelling look; an outsider would have seen it as a passing glance, but Dean and Naomi both recognize it for what it is, a glare that says, “Keep your mouth closed, Naomi. These talks are difficult enough without you stirring things up.” To Ambassador Flrr he says, “Please excuse Ms. Rune. She of course meant to say, ‘the planet in question.’ We’ve all had a very long day, perhaps we should adjourn until tomorrow?”

Dean starts at this. Leave? He’s barely been paying attention to the actual talks, of course, Ambassador Flrr and Ambassador Shurley are just repeating the same things over and over. He can’t hide his tablet under the table and peek glances at it occasionally…because he doesn’t have a seat at the table. He’s lucky to have a chair, he knows; on other assignments he’d had to stand against the wall, out of the way, with the others of low rank. He’s heard stories that these talks started this way too, but after the first year they brought in extra chairs. Apparently a year is long enough to make anyone stand on the fringes.

But he’s not bored. It’s been three days since he met Castiel in the lounge, three days since he ran away, three days of wishing he could go back and change the ending. Today they’re finally in the same room, and even though they aren’t exactly conversing, Dean is enjoying just stealing glances at the beautiful Astorian. Even at a distance those blue eyes electrify him.

And he’s not imagining things. Those eyes are noticing him back. Maybe Cas doesn’t think he’s crazy after all. Or, if he does, maybe he doesn’t care.

Ambassador Flrr had introduced Cas at the beginning of their session that day as, “Ambassador Castiel Novak, an objective outsider who may be able to help us find our way.” The entire human delegation was fascinated; Dean wasn’t the only one who stared. Cas took it in stride, sharing his bright, genuine smile with everyone in the room.

“I don’t know about all that,” Cas had said, bowing slightly to Ambassador Flrr, “but I’ll do everything I can to help your two peoples find peace between you.” Turning to Ambassador Shurley, he said, “The Preet are the ones who brought me here, but I truly want what is best for both sides. To that end, for the first several sessions I’ll be only listening to both sides, learning not only the more recent history but also how you all work together—or don’t, as the case may be.” Scattered laughter, from both sides, greeted this remark. “I’ll be around, both in the negotiations and on the station. I look forward to getting to know you. I’ve studied earth and humans rather extensively, but there’s only so much I can learn from a datastream!” Another charming smile, more laughter.

Dean took in every bit of Cas while he spoke: slightly unruly hair, intense blue eyes, soul-melting smile, muscled arms, silky, blue-black feathers. He had his wings tucked in tightly to his back, but the tips flicked out slightly, then stilled. Dean’s fingers ached to stroke those glossy feathers, but he—like many others on the station, he knew—had been reading up on Astorians, and he knew that touching Cas’s wings was a giant taboo. It would be like walking up to a strange woman and taking her shirt off. Dean shuddered involuntarily. _No_ , he thought. _I’ll keep my hands to myself_. But he couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like to have those feathers beneath his fingers.

Cas settled onto his stool, wings trailing behind him, and although the ambassadors went on speaking—really, how many different ways could they say “it’s mine!”?—most of the humans in the room paid much more attention to the Astorian than to the discourse. Cas himself kept his eyes on the speakers…except when they darted momentarily to Dean.

And Dean noticed. He blocked out the childish bickering at the table and focused on the silent communication he was sure he was getting from Cas. He imagined mussing that already unruly hair. _I’ve got it bad_ , he thought. Charlie knew right away, she’d seen it all over his face after that first meeting.

* * *

 Outwardly Castiel smiles, or gazes at whoever is speaking with intense concern, or just sits, with an easy grace. Inside, however, he is in an uproar. Three nights ago, at the first meeting with the Preet, he didn’t understand what he was seeing, but he can’t deny it anymore.

Throughout his career, Castiel had been to many of these meetings. He’d come to realize, as cliché as it sounded, that the only thing he could expect was the unexpected. Every experience was different. Sometimes his reputation was well known, and he was expected to step in and take charge from the beginning. Other times he had to prove himself, starting in the background and working his way to the fore. At his last job, a particularly memorable one, he’d been brought in by one side in secret, unbeknownst to him. When the other side found out it nearly started a war.

Still, the first meeting with the Preet ambassador had been a new level of unexpected. He’d already been slightly off-balance from his encounter in the lift, wondering if he’d be able to avoid Becky Rosen and, conversely, if he’d ever be able to see Meg Masters again. So it was a bit off-putting when he arrived at the Preet’s headquarters to find the entire delegation—all 67, if Castiel remembers the count correctly—staring at him, unblinking.

Finally Ambassador Flrr spoke. “Ah, Ambassador Novak, thank you for coming.” He looked Castiel up and down and said, “Yes, you will do nicely.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Ambassador Flrr,” Castiel replied, bowing slightly. He felt awkward and uncomfortable under the combined and entirely unrestrained gaze of so many, and for once was concerned that his training might not keep it from showing. He took a microsecond to calm himself, then continued. “I’m eager to speak with you about your people and what role you’d like me to fill at the peace talks.”

The ambassador exchanged a glance with the delegate standing next to him. Slightly taller than Flrr, with a slightly violet tint to his neatly combed blue hair. Castiel recognized him as Charruk Tok, Flrr’s second-in-command. The ambassador turned back to Castiel, who pretended not to notice. “Tok and I have discussed it, and we think we’ll just take things one day at a time, Ambassador Novak. Spend some time getting to know the station. It’s quite large, and there are many interesting things to explore. Just last week Ambassador Shurley took me _bowling_!” The nearby Preet erupted into a high-pitched chittering noise that Castiel eventually realized was laughter. The ambassador smiled. “There’s large session in three days, everyone from both sides will be in attendance. I’ll introduce you then. I’m sure they’ll be eager to meet you.”

“He won’t even have to open his mouth,” Tok said softly, in his own language. He smiled at Castiel.

It took every scrap of training Castiel had ever had to school his features into the “diplomat mask” he always wore in these situations. _They must have not read my file very well_ , he thought.

Up until that point, they had been conversing in Common, the language of Earth and the Star Voyagers. That was the language the of the negotiations; not because the humans had won some sort of advantage, but because the language of the Preet was primarily chirps and clicks and was virtually impossible for the human tongue and vocal chords to mimic. The Preet, however, could speak Common just fine. So when Castiel was hired he learned Common. It was another reason he was so good at his job: he had a gift for languages.

It was something the Preet must not have realized, that Castiel learned languages easily and for fun, the way some people learn a new recipe or how to paint with watercolors. And when he signed on to this impossible job he didn’t just learn Common. He learned Preet too. He couldn’t speak it, of course—wings aside, his anatomy was strikingly similar to that of a human—but he could understand every chirp.

 _Why am I here?_ Castiel’s mind reeled, even as he smiled and chatted with the Preet. _If they don’t want me to **talk** , why am I here?_

It had seemed ridiculous, there in that room full of staring blue faces. Why hire a negotiator if you don’t actually want him to negotiate?

But now? Castiel looks around this room, and everywhere he looks he sees eyes looking back at him. Ambassadors Shurley and Flrr are talking, and almost none of the humans are paying them any attention. One young woman who seems to be listening actually yells “Avalon!” from the back of the room, and only a few people even turn their heads to look. Most everyone is still focused on Castiel.

* * *

 When Ambassador Shurley mentions leaving for the day, Dean is snapped out of his moony daydreams and into the present. He doesn’t want to stop looking at Cas. But when Ambassador Flrr agrees and everyone stands and begins to make their way toward the doors, Dean starts mentally plotting his way through the crowd and across the room. He’s in the same room as—he’s finally admitting it to himself—his crush, and he’s going to find a way to speak to him again.

* * *

The ambassadors decide to adjourn for the day and the delegates throughout the room stand, stretch, and make their way toward the door. The humans around Castiel aren’t subtle about slowing to get a good look at him. Logic tells him they are only curious—Castiel is the first Astorian to travel off-planet in years, so of course none of them has ever seen one of his kind before. But logic alone can’t stop the painful twist in his gut. He is good at his job. He doesn’t want to be reduced to a curiosity.

“I know it’s not okay, but it’s so tempting!”

Giggles. “I know! I bet they’re so soft! I had a parakeet when I was a kid. Those feathers look _way_ softer than parakeet feathers.”

“I wonder if he sleeps in a nest? I mean, he _is_ part bird, right? Or...” The voice lowers, almost to a whisper, “do you think the _angel_ thing is true?”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and flicks his wingtips in frustration. The hall is not yet empty, and as he’s been so recently reminded, he is on display here. If he were alone he’d rant and rail and…no. The corner of his mouth turns up in an almost smile. Even alone, that’s not his style. He’s always been one to seethe in quiet. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at his job. But he _is_ seething. _They think I’m part bird. Either that or an imaginary creature._ He balls his hands into fists, but relaxes them almost immediately. People are watching.

 _On display_. He would laugh if he was alone. It would be a bitter, horrid laugh, though. Who would have thought he’d be reduced to this? Castiel, the pretty showpiece.

And then another voice, this one in the chirps and clicks of a Preet. “It is working! Just look at them!” Castiel has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face calm.

He hears shuffling feet behind him and turns to see Dean, green eyes uncertain.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”

There is silence for a beat; Castiel is about to speak when Dean blurts out, “I’m sorry I ran off the other day. There was…it’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime, if you’d like.” Castiel sees something in his eyes; an old wound, but never truly healed. When Castiel doesn’t turn away Dean’s eyes shine with something brighter. Hope?

Dean smiles then, relieved and pure, and something inside Castiel breaks.

“So. Uh. I left before we even got to have a drink together in the lounge. You have any plans now? Or we could have dinner? They serve _fantastic_ burgers. Do Astorians eat burgers? I’m sure we can find something you’ll like, anyway. And the view is amazing. Well, most of the time anyway.” That hint of darkness flashes across his face again, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced with concern.

 _He’s very perceptive. Astorians are difficult to read, but he knows I’m upset_ , Castiel thinks.

“Cas? Did I say something wrong?”

Castiel wants nothing more than to go with Dean, to share a meal, to hear him laugh. Instead he takes half as step back. “I can’t,” he says. A small thread of anger breaks through his cautiously built façade. He instantly longs to draw it back; he isn’t angry at Dean, he’s angry at everything else. _Great job, Castiel,_ he thinks, his eyes on Dean. _The one time you slip, it’s to hurt someone you actually…_

Dean’s face falls, then he smiles, a carefully constructed, wooden sort of smile. “Oh. My mistake.” He laughs, but it’s forced, not at all the laugh Castiel has been hoping to hear. Then, “Well. If you ever need a tour guide, look me up. Dean Winchester. I’ve been here two years, after all. It’s a big station, but not _that_ big. I know the ins and outs.” He blushes faintly, and the broken bit of Castiel breaks a little more. “Sorry. I’m rambling. Again. See you around, Cas.”

He turns and nearly sprints from the room.

Castiel’s wings droop so low they nearly drag on the floor. The feathers even seem to lose their luster.

He doesn’t even notice the few people left in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I promised they'd be in the same room. I didn't promise sunshine and bumblebees. *hides*
> 
> Seriously, though, thanks for reading!! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Dean spends the next week avoiding everyone.

He doesn’t go to the lounge. He doesn’t answer his door. He ignores Charlie’s increasingly frantic pleas to “please just say something!” from his comm band. He stops opening his mail, even the mail from Sam. He’s supposed to be working—he and Naomi have been assigned to a small group of Preet to negotiate, of all things, fishing rights on a small lake on the main continent of “the planet in question”—but he can’t bring himself to face even a few people. So he pleads, and Naomi covers for him.

And he drinks enough that he can almost avoid himself.

He doesn’t answer his door even when Charlie ignores the call button and starts pounding and shouting instead. “Dean Winchester, you  _ know _ I can hack the lock on your door, and I don’t care if they send me to the brig for doing it! So just open up and save me the trouble of opening up the access panel.”

She could, too. Charlie is a brilliant biologist—she grows the best apples Dean has ever tasted—but she’s also a computer genius. She isn’t kidding about being thrown into the brig, either; she’d do it with a smile. Charlie is somewhat of a legend for the time she hacked the station commander’s personal quarters and woke her in the middle of the night by blasting “Eye of the Tiger” from every speaker. She’d have gotten away clean—she’s a genius, after all, and knows how to get in and out without leaving a trace—but someone managed to make a recording of Charlie actually performing the hack, and Charlie spent a week in the brig. Rumor has it—and Dean happens to know the rumors are true, since he started most of them—that she spent her time in the brig chatting cheerfully with the guards, or catching up on her reading, or just enjoying her break from her busy lab. “It was like a week of vacation,” Charlie told Dean afterward. Of course, if the snitch is ever found out, he or she would be all but exiled. Charlie is very well-liked.

Dean stares up at the door from where he’s currently sprawled; he’d spent the first few days on the sofa, but now he’s flat on the floor.

“Dean, I have three experimental strains of blueberries germinating in the lab. You know I’ve had bad luck with them in the past, but I think strain beta actually looks promising. It would be a  _ terrible _ time for a forced vacation in the brig. Please don’t make me hack your door lock.” Charlie doesn’t sound angry, just resigned.

Dean closes his eyes. The backs of his eyelids are painted with feathers and stars. Hastily scrubbing away the sudden stinging he feels there, he calls “Come in, Charlie,” in a hoarse voice, just loud enough for the lock to disengage.

Charlie takes one step into the room and stops, wrinkling her nose. “You look like crap, Winchester. And you need a shower.” Sidling around him, she makes her way to one of the control panels on the wall. “Good grief, you couldn’t even get up to fix the smell? You just have to change the air flow, add some air freshener…” She stops her tapping to look him up and down. “On second thought, you probably don’t even notice, do you. I brought you lunch,” she adds, gesturing at the bag she’d set down near the door. “A burger. And apple cider. We harvested one of the orchards this week. Which you’d know if you were speaking to me.”

“I had lunch,” Dean mumbles, waving vaguely at the empty beer bottle on the coffee table.

Charlie looks pointedly around the room; there are empty bottles everywhere. She makes a rude noise. “It looks like that’s all you’ve had for the past week. I’m pretty sure your liver’s had enough. No more alcohol, Dean. We’re detoxing you, body and mind.” Her voice is clipped, brisk. More gently she adds, “Just sit up and eat, okay? One step at a time.”

* * *

An hour later the burger and cider are gone (although his stomach protested at first; he honestly can’t remember the last time he ate and he had to push past the queasiness) and Charlie’s somewhat magically put his quarters back into livable conditions. The beer bottles and piles of dirty laundry are gone, the blanket he’d been using half as a pillow and half as a napkin is draped over the back of one of his dining room chairs, and when Dean comes out of the bathroom, dressed in clean clothes and toweling his hair dry, the air smells like…

“Charlie! Did you get a pie?”

She emerges from his bedroom, where she’s been putting away clean laundry. “Sorry, Dean. I just programmed the air filter to apple pie scent. There isn’t actually a pie. This place smelled  _ awful _ . Isn’t this better?”

Dean fights with conflicting emotions. Finally he just points at her and says, “You owe me a pie.”

Charlie grins. “Fair enough.”

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, studiously avoiding Charlie’s watchful gaze, Dean says, “I’m sorry I ignored you for so long, Charlie.”

“I know,”

Dean’s head snaps up. “Did you just Han Solo me?”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “Maybe.” Carefully she sits next to him, taking his hands in hers. “I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need. To listen when you talk, to sit with you when you’re quiet, or to watch  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ with you when you need to think about something else.”

Letting out his breath in a drawn-out sigh, Dean collapses back onto the sofa. He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands for a moment, stalling, then lets his hands drop. Finally he says, eyes still closed, “I babbled, Charlie. There was something there, I know it. But then I got all…babbley, and blushy, and freckley—”

“I don’t think you can help the freckles, Dean.”

“Charlie!” Dean groans.

“Sorry,” Charlie says, actually sounding contrite for once.

“All I did was ask him for a drink. We spent the whole meeting pretending not to stare at each other—that’s what it felt like, anyway—and then…” He sighs again, throwing an arm over his face. “Maybe I was too pushy. I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

“Dean. Sweetie. You are the opposite of pushy.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe  _ you _ weren’t the problem?”

For over a minute he sits, thinking. Then, “No.”

“Maybe Castiel had something else on his mind.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Or maybe he had other plans. Did he tell you he never wanted to see you again?”

“Well, no…” Now Dean is confused. “But when I asked him out, he looked…distressed. And when he turned me down, he sounded almost angry. It’s hard to take that in an ‘ask me again later’ sort of way.”

Charlie curls up on Dean’s side, laying her head on his chest. “I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. But I don’t think you should give up hope yet. He hasn’t even been on the station for two weeks. Give this some time.”

They sit in silence. Dean tries not to think about Cas, or the future, or anything at all.

* * *

 

Dean and Charlie are munching on popcorn and Han Solo is being frozen in carbonite when Charlie says cautiously, “Uh, Dean, you really need to read your mail.”

“Hmm?”

“Your mail. I know you’ve been ignoring that too. Sam’s been writing to me, asking what’s wrong. He’s worried.”

Dean coughs, a bit of popcorn stuck in his throat. “Shit. He probably thinks I’m sick or dead or something. He’ll tell Mom, and pretty soon she’ll send security to bang on my—.”

“Relax. Breathe. I don’t want to take you to sickbay with popcorn in your lungs.” This pulls a weak grin from Dean. “I told him you’re okay, just having a rough time and needing some space. No details, that’s your business. But you’ve got to answer him, I’m not your answering service. And he keeps hinting that he’s got something important to tell you.”

This time the smile is genuine. “Maybe our Sammy finally met a girl! It’s been over four years since Jess left him a wounded giant. I mean, it’s great that he focused so hard on school—kid’s gonna make a great doctor—but he’s gotta have a life too.”

Elbowing Dean playfully in the ribs, Charlie laughs. “Dean Winchester, you’re just a big softie.”

Charlie’s looking at the vid screen, so she can’t see the flash of sadness that crosses Dean’s face at her words.  _ Yeah, that’s me. Dean Winchester, fool for love. What’s it done for  _ **_me_ ** _ lately? _

Dean blinks. Now is not the time. “Pause film,” he says, and an immobile Vader stares out from the vid screen. He goes through the commands, pulling up his mail, and Vader is replaced with his brother’s smiling face. “Is he  _ ever _ going to cut his hair?” he says. Charlie shushes him, giggling. Dean starts the most recent video message, and the familiar sound of his brother’s voice gives him a slight pang of homesickness, as it always does.

_ Dean! Little brother! ( _ “Yeah, that never gets old,” Dean grumbles. “Just because you never stopped growing…” _ ) Charlie keeps telling me you’re okay, but I still wish you’d answer. It’s not like you. Unless it’s… _ A guilty look crosses his face, but it’s gone so fast Dean might have imagined it. _ Anyway, I’ve got news. Which Charlie probably already told you. You know I graduated med school last month. Did Mom tell you I was top of my class? Probably. Now I have to complete a residency, and because my ranking was so high I held out for what I wanted. I’ve got a place with the Star Voyagers medical corps, Dean. I’ve been assigned to the  _ Virginian _. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took such a very long time. I was sick for pretty much all of March, and then every time I tried to write chapter six it was just...wrong. About a week ago I finally realized I was writing the wrong chapter. I was trying to skip ahead. Once I got on the right track it was much easier. And I've already got about half of the next chapter written, so the wait won't be nearly so long...promise! :)
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://ialwayscomewhenyoucall.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Chapter 7

“You look _terrible_ , Clarence. What’s got your feathers all ruffled?”

Startled, Castiel looks up from the dinner he’s barely tasting to meet Meg’s level gaze. Without thinking he answers. “The walls in my room get closer every day. Eventually I’ll be crushed into a tiny cube and jettisoned into space. I don’t particularly want to be out where everyone stares at me, but the extra space to spread my wings is preferable to suffocation.”

They stare at each other for a moment; Meg surprised, Castiel wondering what made him speak in such a forthright manner. Meg breaks the silence by bursting into laughter. “You’ve been watching too much _Star Wars_ ,” she says drily. “You’ve got the reference _and_ the melodrama.”

Castiel squints at her, tilting his head. “What star wars? When I look out my portals all I see are routine patrols, there are no wars in this sector. And the closest star is many light years away.”

She laughs again, harder this time. “You’re precious, Clarence.”

He shakes his head at her, but his smile is genuine. “I still don’t understand that nickname, either. You know my name is Castiel.”

“You don’t say,” she says, sitting on the empty chair across from him.

For a few minutes they eat without speaking. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable; on the contrary, Castiel is thankful to spend time with someone who isn’t staring at him. Eventually he says, “I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”

Meg’s face is expressionless when she says, “I can leave if you want me to.”

Castiel’s response is fast and sure. “No. Please stay. Everyone else watches me as if I’m an oddity, something to be studied. Even many of the Preet. You, though…” He tilts his head, squints. “I honestly can’t figure out what _you_ want, Meg.”

Castiel can practically see the walls come up around her. “I don’t want _anything_ from you, Clarence. I just thought you could use a friend.”

They both relax. “I could,” Castiel says _. Especially one who has nothing to do with the diplomatic corps_ , he thinks.

“So where have you been? I know it’s a big station, but it’s not _that_ big, and your wings aren’t exactly easy to miss.”

He appraises her silently, contemplating how much to tell her. She’s not a part of the diplomatic corps, has nothing to do with the Preet. He thinks. But should he draw her into his mess? It would be nice to have someone to talk to.

He opens his mouth to brush her off, to say, “I’ve been around,” but something—her _almost_ stony expression? the mischievous glint in her eyes? his own need for friendship?—changes his mind, and the whole story pours out of him. He tells her about the strange meeting with the Preet, and the creeping realization that they are using him for more—or less—than his skills as a negotiator. He tells her about meeting Dean in this very lounge, about pushing him away the last time they spoke. He tells her about how cramped his quarters feel, and how desperately he needs to get out and fly.

“I know my quarters are bigger than most, of course. I can actually unfurl my wings in them. I can _stretch_ , but I need to _fly_.”

Meg looks at him, a thoughtful look on her face. “I may have some suggestions for you there. But first, how are the negotiations going?”

Castiel actually laughs. “The negotiations are going nowhere. That’s not much of a surprise really, they’ve been fighting for decades. But now I can’t leave my quarters without feeling like I’m being watched.” He sighs, a long, drawn out release. “I do, of course. I have to. I meet with humans who fawn all over me. I meet with Preet who gaze adoringly. I constantly have to pull my wings tight to my back because everyone wants to touch them. I smile at everyone. I answer the same questions over and over: no, I’m not actually part bird; no, I don’t actually sleep in a nest; no, I wasn’t hatched from an egg; yes, Astorian children learn to fly not long after they learn to walk and yes, that does make parenting a challenge. And that’s just a few. I eat at least one meal a day in a lounge or mess hall, making myself ‘visible’ and ‘available.’ Although until today I’ve been avoiding this particular lounge.” Castiel looks around. How can he explain that he felt both relief and disappointment when he didn’t see Dean sitting by the huge viewport? He wants to see Dean, even if only for a moment, but how could he explain his actions at their last parting?

Meg actually snorts. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh. Looking for the green-eyed boy?” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

“What? No! He’s just a…I just…it doesn’t matter.” Castiel looks down, avoiding her knowing gaze. “Since he’s not here anyway,” he adds, mumbling.

Meg chuckles. “Let’s get out of here, Clarence. You need to get your mind off of…other things…and although you obviously know a lot about humans, your lack of education in other areas is glaring. So choose: _Star Wars_ or _It’s a Wonderful Life_.”

“I don’t know what any of that means.”

“And that’s exactly why we need to get started.” Meg stands, picking up her tray to carry it to the counter for cleaning. “ _Star Wars_ , I think. We’ll save angels for later.”

Castiel smiles. “My instruction is in your hands,” he says, following.

* * *

“So that’s why he didn’t want to have dinner with me,” Dean says to Charlie. He’s watching Cas smile—not at him, but at Meg Masters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you all think I abandoned this fic? I didn't! Summertime = crazytime, but hey, I finally got another chapter done. This story is always in my mind, so I promise it *will* be finished. Eventually. ;)


End file.
